On a beautiful summer morning, the sun was still low on the horizon and the coolness of the night lingered. The smell of the damp ground after the previous day's rain was most relaxing. Sitting in a simple metal chair at the bottom of the small garden of his house at Spinner's End. Severus Snape was quietly sipping a deep, bitter black coffee with some toast, jam and bacon. Severus was particularly fond of this kind of morning, and was enjoying it on his little outdoor table. Severus had long since ceased to seek the fleeting and frivolous joys of most men his age. For him, his pleasures were the rare quiet moments he could spare, the time he could spend behind his cauldrons furthering his research, the seminars and conferences he attended, his garden of fresh ingredients or his correspondence with the other Potions Masters around the world. But also simple moments like these, on a cool summer morning, in his garden, with a good coffee.
To put it simply, Severus was a austere, reclusive and withdrawn man, but not as vehement, evil or diabolical as Hogwart's students liked to portray him. His problem with Hogwart's, and Severus made no secret of it, was the students. Noisy, stupid, restless, inept children unfit to even approach a cauldron. Severus was a scholar, a master, not a teacher equipped pedagogically to deal with the hordes of stupid, dirty, smelly students that his damned days at Hogwart confronted him with. He would do rather well if he had to teach a handful of zealous apprentices. But not Hogwart's students. Honestly Severus was doing his best to put up with the abominable apes. The proof! Even after his years of service he had yet to kill one of them, even when he was sorely tempted. At least he was doing his best to support his house.
Since the end of the war, Slytherin suffered from a bad reputation and the Headmaster's bias against his house did not help. Especially since the majority of Slytherin's students came from old pureblood families, often affiliated with the Dark Lord, or halfbloods and muggleborns who came from abusive environments and developed the traits of his house by necessity. On several occasions Severus himself had gone to intervene in abusive families to help the students of his house. This fact had made him popular with more people than he was comfortable with, but if he could do something to prevent children from having to go through the same adolescence as he had, he would. Even against the wishes of the Headmaster and his blindness to the reality of certain family situations... (No Albus, a cold discussion armed with frowns and disapproving glances at parents whose children are being abused is not enough. ) Which didn't help in terms of acceptance for his house within the school. His snake were the target of most of the bullying, especially from the Gryffindors. One of his only joys was to return the favour to Dumbledore's little protégés by directing all his vitriol at them. Perhaps then the lions would realise how it felt to be discriminated against and stop being so violent and immature towards his snakes... Unlikely, but it was worth a try and it did his nerves a world of good.
Severus's only respite at Hogwart's was during the few holidays, and his 6th and 7th year classes where he was able to handpick the lucky few he would accept for his NEWT classes. As he only accepted those who got an O in Potions for his classes, it allowed him to teach only competent students who were really interested in the subject. And these classes rarely caused Severus any displeasure.
All this to say that for Severus, his favourite time of year was the summer holidays. Two long months away from the hollering, the shouting, and the incessant, exhausting bustle of Hogwart's. Two long months during which he could devote himself entirely to what he was interested in, his potions, his research, and ESPECIALLY, no children to burst his eardrums.
Severus took another sip of coffee, bitterand boiling hot, enough to wake him up. He turned his gaze to the rising sun. A light breeze caressed his face. Summer, at last, was the opportunity to really move forward on his truly important project. The only project that really mattered. The search for his Goddaughter Aster. A year ago, Albus had finally given up any hope and announced Aster's death to the magical world of Great Britain. This announcement had caused waves, and only Dumbledore's great political skill and the loss of many favours had allowed him not to lose his prestigious positions. According to his story, a few days before the announcement, Aster's adoptive family (whose name he had of course withheld) had contacted him about Aster's runaway, and despite all his enquiries nothing but a blood trail had been found. Most of the general public had completely swallowed the information, although some rare people had called it a lie...
For him, it was of little importance. For all these years he had not given up and had continued to search. He had built a network, made contacts all over Europe, used all the magic he knew to find his goddaughter. And after years of effort, he finally found a lead. Three months ago, one of his German contacts had sent him a photo. A simple Muggle photo taken by one of his contact's friends. The photo was from a year ago and his contact had apparently noticed it while looking through his friend's travel memorabilia. He promptly made a copy and sent it to Severus. Since then he had always kept the photo with him, in the inside pocket of his robes. Thoughtfully, he took out the photo for the twentieth time this week, and once again analysed it, observed it, devoured it with his eyes.
It was a simple holiday photo of his contact's friend and his wife, smiling and waving at the photographer in front of the Brandenburg gates. In the background, having just passed behind them, was a young woman dressed in a long, elegant black dress with long sleeves. Her skin was fair and she had beautiful blue eyes. Her long, orange-brown hair fell in loose curls to her waist. Her aristocratic-looking face was smiling and turned towards the girl accompanying her. Severus' eyes struggled to take his eyes off the girl. Aster Potter, he could recognise her anywhere. Nothing could be easier after all, she was the spitting image of his mother. Soft face, big bright green eyes, long red hair... She also wore a hat and a long forest green dress covering her arms and falling to her ankles.
In the photo Aster looked no more than nine years old and still thin and small for that age. An unfortunate consequence of the food deprivation she had suffered at the hands of these monsters posing as men, surely. Severus' heart sank. At least in this picture she looked happy, smiling at the woman accompanying her, one hand holding her hand, the other holding an ice cream. The only slight oddity was her strangely bright left eye and her almost perfectly white porcelain skin. Did she lack sunlight? Perhaps. But in this photo, in the company of the unknown young woman, Aster just looked particularly happy.
Severus sighed and put the picture back in his pocket, secure. Ever since he'd acquired it, this picture had been his sunshine, his light in the night, his beacon guiding him. It showed two things. One: Aster was alive and well, and at least one person seemed to be looking after her properly. The other: He finally had a real lead. And if he followed it correctly, it would only be a matter of time before he found Aster. He had hesitated for a moment to show his discovery to Dumbledore, but the idea had quickly seemed wrong. The Headmaster had abandoned the search long ago and later declared Aster dead. No, Severus wouldn't do him that favour. He wouldn't let Albus stick his big, nosy, manipulative nose into Aster's case after he'd failed her, abandoned her, and then declared her dead. Severus would find Aster on his own and finally meet his goddaughter for real. His spying skills would not only serve to show off in these times of relative peace. His next destination: Berlin.
He sank back in his seat and looked up at the sky, oh how good it was to have hope again. Severus frowned. Far in the sky a black dot was approaching. Ah, the owl of the Daily Prophet. Reading that propagandist Ministry rag was always a good way to start the day. From a sarcastic point of view most of the articles were hilarious. A parody of a real newspaper that only serves to promote and praise the ministry's policies of the day, or to divert people's attention from the real political movements by gossiping or writing idiotic articles.
The only other two newspapers in the UK were the Quibbler, a more or less satirical paper spreading conspiracy theories and rumours about imaginary creatures. Severus subscribed to it but would never admit this fact to anyone. (Except for Minerva, but only because she had caught him reading it before. It was not an easy week after that. The quiet mockery and innuendo had nearly driven him mad. Fortunately none of the students had been observant enough to understand. Or those who did had the intelligence and survival instinct not to spread the rumour).
The other paper was Witch Weekly, a collection of gossip about public figures and celebrities with beauty tips. He had burnt a copy of this cursed paper when one of the articles had mentioned him as one of the best parties for the ladies in the 'dark and mysterious' category. He had never opened a copy of that cursed magazine ever again. So he was pretty sure that there was only one serious newspaper in the whole of the magical United Kingdom. A propaganda paper with no serious counterweight of any kind. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows furrowing. A single newspaper filled with propaganda with no serious competition. Symptomatic of an authoritarian regime... The elected minister, a mere front, a puppet of the old, wealthy families running the country in the Wizengamot.
One wondered if the victory over Voldemort had really served any purpose other than to slow down the long march towards the oppression of all non-humans. The only winners were the Muggle-born, and still... discrimination against them was alive and well. The relative isolation of the UK from the rest of Europe and the recent changes in mentality following the Lumières in France and then Grindelwald had certainly not helped. Their society was as if frozen in time in the late Middle Ages.
At last the owl, a large brown bird with a particularly grumpy and tired look, landed on the table. Severus handed it a bit of bacon, which the bird devoured with a disdainful look before holding out its leg for Severus to pick up his newspaper. The owl flew away after stealing another piece of bacon.
He took a sip of his coffee and opened the newspaper and for the first time in years Severus was surprised by the front page. First page was occupied by an international article. A rare thing for the Daily Prophet, as the paper relayed the isolationist tendencies of the Ministry and left little room for international news. It must have been quite important. Severus began to read and spat out his coffee in a coughing fit. He would never have imagined this. The article said:
Dark Lord Anna Karrasinqi, finally slain by an ICW force of international cooperation. A heavy toll.
Dear readers, a few weeks ago the hideout of the war criminal and vampire Dark Lady Anna Karrasinqi was discovered. Many people are unaware of this, but Karrasinqi was the general-in-chief of the invincible army of Vlad III of Basarab, known as Vlad the Impaler. The most terrible Dark Lord in the history of Europe. Karrasinqi was only his right hand , but don't get me wrong. If Vlad the Impaler was the one dealing with the politics and internal management of his empire. Karrasinqi was his armed wing. The most terrible enchantress history has ever known. The bounty on her head was over 1,500,000 Galleon (for more information on Anna Karrasinqi see page 5). For more information on Vlad III of Basarab and his reign, see page 8. )
Yesterday, dear readers, an international coalition in the form of an ICW assault regiment made up of hit wizards and aurors from the UK led by veteran auror Alastor Moody. Veteran troop of the eiserne Wache, from the Holy Roman Empire led by Hans Mannausstahl. Men from the Grand Alliance led by the well-known Sarah Malbois and healers and logisticians from the Scandinavian Clan Assembly. The assault regiment in itt's entierty was led by the Great Grandsorcerer Adamar Schawrtzstein. ( For more information on the composition of the assault regiment see page 12 )
The assault on Anna Karrasinqi's hideout took place yesterday at 5pm. And we are happy to announce that the terrible vampire Anna Karrasinqi is finally dead. However, as much as this day is to be celebrated for freeing the world from this terrible threat, there are many losses to be mourned. Anna Karrasinqi did not go down without a fight and she took many of our brave aurors and hitwizards with her. For yes, dear readers, the squad led by Alastor Moody was designated as one of the two assault squads. Our wizards fought valiantly on the front lines for the justice and honour of our great nation. However, the cost of their courage was terrible. Of the two assault squads that fought on the front line we can count only three survivors. Of the British delegation, only Fiona Dester and Alastor Moody survived. Among the Holy Empire delegation only Till Lorenz survived. All three are in a deep coma due to a spell or curse unknown to us. So far none of our efforts to wake them up were successful and they all suffered serious injuries. The Grand Alliance Support Squad has also unfortunately suffered losses with 3 dead and 2 seriously wounded. The Care and Logistics Squad, on the other hand, suffered only one death and four injuries.
On this day. The ministry decided to declare a minute's silence in honour of our brave men who fought and died for a just cause ...
The article went on for a long time describing the suspected exploits of the ICW regiment. Suspected exploits yes. For none of those who actually witnessed the scene were able to tell anything. The wizards of the assault squads who survived are in a coma and all the wounded who witnessed the scene were found in such a state of hysterical madness that nothing could be drawn from them. Adamar himself had apparently been seriously injured and was found several kilometres from the scene of the confrontation, between life and death, his eyes in a daze and giving an incoherent and contradictory hysterical speech about how reality was a lie, magic was a curse and even death would not be a deliverance. The poor men had to undergo powerful memory spells and have the memories of the last 48 hours completely erased to regain some semblance of sanity. Fortunately, all those who had not witnessed the confrontation or participated in it seemed sane but therefore unable to describe precisely what had happened.
But what shocked Severus most were the pictures. The scene was akin to an apocalyptic landscape. The ground covered in craters, the earth in places glazed over by the heat of some spell during the battle, the burnt trees, the ruins of a house whose upper half seemed to have disintegrated. Even in the war against Voldemort he had rarely seen such destruction. Moreover, it seemed that the fight that had taken place had risked the status of secrecy, as apparently part of it had taken place high in the air. Severus shuddered, what would the scene look like if the fight had taken place entirely on the ground ... No, it was better not to think about that. Severus turned the page, and to his surprise saw a picture of the lifeless body of a young woman that looked familiar. Had he seen her somewhere before? The caption read... Anna Karrasinqi. It was normal for a vampire to look so young... even after more than 500 years. She wore a shining armor covered with strange symbols, but for some strange reason it was impossible to focus on it and try to read or copy them. Surely a security to protect her work as an enchantress.
Frankly, Severus found the assault on Karrasinqi's hideout a stupid idea. Yes, the bounty was great, but Karrasinqi hadn't done anything criminal or especially darklordish in ages. He had the feeling that the ICW attack was mainly intended to show that there was some cooperation between the European magical nations, and that the danger posed by Karrasinqi was just a pretext. Well, serves those morons right, their force had been wiped out by Karrasinqi alone. Only something kept bothering Severus, a strange sense of déjà vu.
Severus looked at the picture in the prophet and analysed the late Karrasinqi's face. Pale skin, blue eyes now glassy, long ochre-brown hair, aristocratic face... 'no, impossible'. Severus' hand went to the inner pocket of his robes. 'No, no, no, no, no...' sounded like a litany in his head as his long, slender, trembling fingers grasped the photograph. He looked at the photo and compared the young woman accompanying Aster, to the photo of Karrasinqi's lifeless body. His blood froze in his veins. Severus saw butterflies in the corners of his eyes. He felt sick. In his head all the pieces of the puzzle were slowly fitting together to form a terrifying picture. Albus's device indicating Aster's death but the one indicating the state of her magic still in working order though weak. Her pale complexion in the picture. Her obvious protective measures against the sun. The ineffectiveness of his spells to find her. The woman accompanying Aster in his photo was Anna Karrasinqi. Aster had probably been turned into a vampire. And worse, his heart skipped a few beats. Aster had surely found herself in the middle of this apocalyptic battle. Severus feverishly reread the article, nowhere did it mention a little girl. No body. Perhaps she had survived again. The flame of hope that had nearly been extinguished resisted.
Severus rose abruptly from his chair, the remaining coffee in his cup and his toast forgotten. "Screw Berlin, I'm off to Romania," Severus growled to himself as he headed for home. Striding through his plantations of potion ingredients. He was going to make an excuse and get to the scene as quickly as possible. He would question the survivors. He would search the battlefield. He had never been so close to finding his goddaughter and so far away at the same time.
oOOOo
Two days, a few hundred gallons, a few bribes and a lot of talking and effort later, Severus was walking down a small beaten track in the middle of a large Romanian forest. He had been off his broomstick for over an hour, expecting to arrive at the scene quickly. But he kept going, further and further, the trees around the path getting bigger and older, the woods wilder and more remote. A good place for the hideout of the most terrible vampire enchantress of the last millennium, he thought. Here the animals had ceased to fear him, unused to the presence of man. He had seen several deer and hinds, a herd of boars, wolves and even the silhouette of a bear in the distance between the trees.
After the battle the place of the fight had been classified as a class XXXXXX restricted area at the request of the British Department of Mysteries and the International League of Secrets. Two secret and powerful organisations that Severus had to fight to obtain permission to access the site of the battle. What the wizards of these organisations could discover to declare an exclusion zone of this level made him shudder. The only reason he'd finally gotten permission was by promising to use his potion mastering skills to bring the wizards who'd suffered that strange curse during the clash out of their comas. He had examined Moody and Miss Dester the day before and had concluded that the coma was of nervous origin due to an overload or electrical potential problem in the body. The creation of a cure would be long and tedious and would surely take him several years but seemed possible. He had then requested access to the exclusion zone under the excuse of having to access the battlefield in the hope of finding traces of the magic used on the comatose victims. Surprisingly, this excuse had worked, as he was only a few hundred meters away from the site.
In front of him stood a barrier guarded by four wizards in International Secret League combat uniforms. Severus stood a few feet away from them. One of the wizards stepped towards him and without a word held out his hand. Severus complied and reached into his bag before pulling out the multiple documents attesting to the validity of his presence on the scene. The man nodded and presented him with a small needle and a smooth black stone. "Mr Severus Snape, Potions Master. A drop of blood on the stone please." Severus pricked the tip of his index finger and squeezed it until a drop of scarlet fell onto the stone. It glowed a soft blue for a moment before returning to normal. "Well, you may pass, Mr. Snape." Severus nodded politely before stepping through the crossing point. He felt the powerful wards of the exclusion zone pass through him and accept him, then he stepped forward.
In front of him the trees became more and more sparse until finally, Severus came upon the clearing. The sight before his eyes rendered him speechless, having stood still for several minutes unable to realise what he was seeing and feeling. The first thought that came to him was, 'The pictures in the newspaper were more than censored... it has NOTHING to do with it.'
If the daily prophet's photos showed a terrifying war scene, what he was looking at was no different from Ragnarök. The trees all around the clearing were all uprooted as if blown by a gigantic shock wave, as if they were nothing but twigs. The ground was almost completely glazed over and cracked with boulders sticking out of it. There was almost nothing left of the house. In a vast 500 metre cone the entire forest had been reduced to a fine white dust, Severus shuddered, the only kind of magic that could have such an effect was battle magic. a kind of magic that was impossible to use with a wand, which could at best be duel or anti-personnel class magic. One last thing struck Severus, the presence of numerous asphodel growing unnaturally on the glazed floors, kneaded with dark magic or sometimes even in the air, the mists crawling on the ground also gave a eerie and unsettling atmosphere.
Finally, the latent magic in the air was so powerful and intense that some pieces of rock and wood were floating in the air and luminous filaments of pure magic were visible. But worst of all, what no photograph could have captured, was what was left of the residual magic was so dark that even Severus, a great practitioner of dark magic in his spare time and an acquaintance of Voldemort, had never felt anything like it. Here the magics used had been so dark that even the obvious traces of the mass use of fiend fire seemed light in comparison. What had happened here had been horrific. Severus approached and inspected the place more closely. He squinted, the magic here was choking him more and more. Suddenly a faint reflection caught his eye. There on the ground, hidden in a grove of Asphodel, was a small pendant. Severus leaned over, grabbed his wand and cast every detection and analysis spell he knew. The necklace had apparently escaped the notice of the Secret League investigators. All his spells proved negative. The necklace did not appear to be cursed or anything.
Severus knelt down and gingerly picked up the locket by the small chain. It was a rather pretty, if rather stark, pendant. Suddenly a heartbeat went through Severus. He felt a small amount of his magic being drained by the necklace and felt his aura. In horror Severus dropped the necklace and it fell heavily to the ground. He stared at it wide-eyed as if the pendant held all the answers in the world, and in a way it did. The realisation crushed Severus to the core. He had discussed this with the Dark Lord long ago. And even the Dark Lord was horrified by it, and rightly so. If the magic here was so dark, far too dark. It was because it wasn't dark magic. It was black magic that he felt. The most terrible form of magic in existence, the one that devours and absorbs, the only form of magic that is fundamentally evil and unnatural. The one obtained only by bargaining with forces that should not even be mentioned. And that necklace before him was even worse. Severus took in the scene around him again. The magic so intense and dark, the state of the place. It all made sense now. Severus was crouched at the epicentre of a daemonic incursion, with the object used to summon them before his eyes.
Two days ago, Severus had been surprised by the small number of survivors. But now his perspective had changed dramatically. The fact that there were any survivors at all, and that the entire region had not simply vanished from reality, was a miracle. Voldemort had told him of his attempts to master daemonic magics and after his account Severus had sworn never to approach the subject. Severus stared again at the innocent medallion. He was looking at a portable daemonic portal supported by dark magic. This... thing had to be destroyed. No one was to know that such a thing could exist. Severus took hold of his wand with trembling fingers and pointed at the medallion before whispering the only magic he knew that could erase such an abomination from reality. The ultimate dark magic of destruction. The one fueled by the intent to destroy, to see disappear, to erase, utterly. Two words escaped his lips. "fiend fire". A long snake of blue flame shot from his wand and swallowed the pendant between his broad jaws. The cursed fire did its work, and within seconds there was nothing left of the doomed object, not a trace, not a dust. With another wave of his wand Severus erased the flame serpent from reality, relieved to have rid the world of such a thing. Who knows what might have happened if the medallion had fallen into the wrong hands?
Severus got to his feet, he still had an investigation to perform and at this point he could only hope that Aster had not died as a victim of the daemons that had been summoned here during the battle. A strained laugh escaped Severus' lips. The presence of daemons was a good explanation for Adamar's state of madness. How the man had survived the daemons would remain a mystery, and if remembering them would send him back into madness it would remain so.
He walked around the devastated clearing and noticed several disturbing details. First of all a swing hanging under the branch of a fallen tree, from the state of the rope it must have been regularly used and the state of the wood indicated that the swing must have been there for only a few years. A small bench near what must have been a small lake before all the water in it had evaporated was covered with small childish engravings of animals or plants... To Severus the signs were clear, Karrasinqi did not lived alone in this place.
There was only the ruin of the house left to search. Severus didn't expect to find anything there given its condition, but he would be foolish not to check. He entered where the door should be. The inside of the house was a complete ruin. The upper floor had been disintegrated, leaving only the ground floor. And even then, it seemed to have been devoured by flames. Fallen wooden beams, ruins of furniture not entirely burnt out had survived. From what little remained, Severus could imagine that the house had been rather cosy and bright. Not what Severus would have expected for the Dark Lady Karrasinqi... So far his search of the house had yielded nothing, everything that could be useful and provide him with any form of information had been burnt. But Severus went on with his thorough exploration of the place.
The cellar was completely ravaged. Stores of power stones had been burned and showed signs of fiend fire. How hard had the fight been to justify such an intensive use of the cursed fire? At the bottom of the cellar a magic circle covered with strange paterne had apparently been present. But it had been completely destroyed beyond repair, so Severus could not hope to understand its past use.
Dejectedly, Severus surfaced and was about to go and question the survivors, when he saw out of the corner of his eye a small fallen shelf behind which he had neglected to search. He shrugged and decided to check anyway. It was better to be thorough in his research than to regret it later. His insistence was rewarded when behind the burnt piece of furniture, between it and what was left of the wall, he saw something. A small frame. A simple accio and he had the frame in his hand. His breath was caught for a moment as his eyes devoured the photograph within it. It was apparently some sort of family photo. Three people were present in the picture. He immediately recognised Karrasinqi. She was holding the small smiling figure of Aster against herself. To their left was a young teenager who looked no older than 16. She had blonde hair, laughing blue eyes, wore an amused smile and was strangely dressed in a monk's bure. Her hand was resting on Aster's shoulder in a strangely possessive way. Who was this person? He did not know. But the most important thing was that he had the ultimate confirmation that Aster had lived here for a long time and was well treated. Strange, given that she had apparently been in the care of Anna Karrasinqi, the great retired Dark Lord... He preciously placed the small frame in his purse. He would keep it, if only to have an image of his goddaughter.
Now he had some questioning to conduct. Perhaps the survivors knew something about Aster. He would soon find out.
oOOOo
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He was sitting in the study of his Spinner's End house leaning against the back of his chair and beginning to despair. It had been three days since his visit to the battlefield, to Aster's old home. And had interviewed just over half of the survivors. In front of him was a pile of documents cross-referencing the results of all his interrogations. All of them so far had yielded exactly the same result. All the survivors knew was that at the briefing the day before the mission, Alastor Moody had spoken and explained that during his investigation of Karrasinqi he had seen a child accompanying her on several occasions and had theorised that it might be her daughter or someone very close to her and had suggested that if possible she should be targeted to destabilise Karrasinqi and take advantage of her surprise or anxiety to strike. A cunning but potentially effective tactic. Moody's signature, no mercy or hesitation in the face of all that was dark. The problem was that all the survivors, neither obliviated nor comatose, had in common that they had not witnessed the battle directly. And therefore had not seen Aster. So far, what had become of her remained a mystery to Severus.
Had she survived? Possibly no child's body had been found. But given the violence of the confrontation, she could have been reduced to nothing by the fiend fire, or disintegrated, or worse, taken away by daemons... It was best not to think about it. There was also the possibility that she might have escaped, and Severus prayed that she had. Even if none of the other witnesses claimed to have seen Aster, he would continue to search, until he had confirmation of her death and could grieve in peace of mind or find her safe and sound. His thoughts were interrupted by small tapping against his window. Severus turned his head, and saw, on the other side of the glass, a beautiful owl with ashen feathers and amber eyes. Curious, Severus opened his window and the owl flew into the room before landing on his desk. This owl was unlike any of the birds used by his usual correspondents.
He sat down at his desk facing the animal and took out the usual bird treats from his drawer. Not giving an owl its treats was a free ticket to getting your fingers pinched. He carefully detached the letter from the beautiful owl's leg and examined it. The seal was unfamiliar to him. He had never seen a black wax with two crossed wings as a symbol. He cast a few detection spells to be sure, one could never be too careful, before carefully opening it and starting to read.
Monsieur Severus Snape.
J'ai entendu des rumeurs parmi mes collègues ayant survécu à l'incident d'il y a quelques jours que vous chercheriez des informations à propos d'une jeune fille ayant, semble-t'il vécu avec feu Anna Karrasinqi. J'ai à ma disposition quelques informations qui pourrait vous êtres utiles. Mais j'aimerais d'abord vous rencontrer en personne afin de m'assurer de la nature de vos motivations. Ci-joint est un portoloin qui vous mènera à un point de rendez-vous dussiez vous accepter ma requête de rencontre privé. Ceci est votre seul chance de me rencontrer. Le mot d'activation du portoloin est 'tilleul'. Vous avez une demi-heure pour vous décider après l'ouverture de la lettre. Le portoloin se désactivera une fois le temps écoulé. Si vous acceptez, je vous attend.
Bien à vous.
Madame Sarah de Malbois.
The letter was entirely in French and it took Severus a few minutes to decipher it. Although he could speak French to a decent standard, which was necessary for his international conventions, he still struggled with the written form. From the letter. Madame Sarah Malbois. The head of the Grand Alliance delegation had information about Aster but wanted to meet him personally on her own terms before divulging anything, to ascertain his motives... Understandable. A middle-aged man seeking information about a young girl in such peculiar circumstances was bound to arouse suspicion, and Severus was prepared for that. Mrs Malbois had enclosed a portkey with her letter. It was a dried autumn-coloured linden leaf. Severus did not have much time left to make his decision. Was this a trap? He did not know Mrs Malbois personally and she had no interest in attacking him. In any case, the information on Aster was too rare and too valuable to be ignored. Severus did not hesitate long. He grabbed the sheet of paper and the letter and before he could make a conscious decision the word escaped him. "Tilleul » He disappeared in a crack.